Tales of Growing Up
by lishawinchester
Summary: Dean and Cas talking of their life together now they are old. Different chapters different memories of their past, the struggles and how far the have come. Some Dean/Cas angst
1. Chapter 1 - The Veiw

Cutting the engine, the old, worn out car overlooks the valley below. Lights dancing across the distance, twinkling in and out like a soft pulse. Rumbles of vehicles experiencing late night trips across the town; sometimes a siren calls out announcing either arrival or passing of life. None of that matters. With shaky hands, the couple slowly emerge out of the car and perch themselves on the hood. Shuffling backwards, creaky bones and joints protesting at the sudden movements, the smallest of the pair grasps along the hood, searching for the other. Always searching. His milky eyes darting around behind his lenses, in sudden panic that he can't find him. Where is he? The hood of the car is still warm, and he can feel a certain presence, but where is he? The panic begins to rise again, and finally the other man latches onto his hand. His anchor. He rubs his thumb along the top of his knuckles one way, then the other. Repeat. This always defuses his minor panic attacks.  
"Cas" the calmer of the two whispers, "you gotta calm down hun, I aint goin' anywhere." Slowly, he brings his knuckles up to his mouth and presses soft kisses across each individual knuckle, repeatedly. The simple gesture causes the previously panicked atmosphere to deflate into a more tranquil environment.  
"I know Dean, I know." Cas replies almost as quietly as Dean. Even at their old age and slowly fading hearing, they can still whisper quietly with no problem. They often thought this was because they were more attuned to each other than anyone else. As Cas likes to regularly remind Dean, it is because of their 'profound bond'.  
"Hey Cas, remember the first time I brought you here?" Dean asks, looking straight ahead into the busy nightlife of the town. From where he sat, even with his eyesight going south, he can make out the streetlights on his and Cas' road. He can also spot the many diners littering the streets. Trust Castiel to pick the most unpopulated town in the middle of nowhere, but inhabiting the most fast food places. Dean shakes his head and looks towards Cas, having heard him begin to start and restart his sentence several times now.  
"Yes Dean, I remember." His voice wavers uncertainly, causing a large mixture of worry and anxiety to build in Dean's stomach.  
For the past year, Castiel had been having problems with remembering. Places, people, and more recently himself. Add to that his eyesight fading faster and faster each day, Dean had begun to feel helpless. The routine trip to the grocery store was a definite no these days, especially after the last incident.  
_Cas had wanted to have some freedom, he felt like Dean was constantly hovering over his shoulder. He felt like he was back in heaven, having to obey orders constantly. So, naturally he rebelled. He pulled on his trusty trench coat (during his human lifetime he had purchased around 30 of said coat due to him being clumsy as a human, go figure) and made his way towards the store. If Dean had been home, there would have been no way Cas would have been able to leave the house alone, but he needed this, not just to prove to Dean, but to himself._ _It was a beautiful day and as he walked he couldn't help but think how Dean was missing out. A few days earlier, he had reluctantly left to visit Sam and his 'friend' Lucy who lived a couple of towns over. Glancing down at his watch, he realised Dean was due back any minute. A wave of emotions Cas could only describe as utter joy washed over him. His steps became more confident, he could do this. Arriving at the store, Cas hadn't anticipated so many people. Why where all these people here? Why was he at the store? Where was he? Soon, he began to panic. Badly. Short gasps and tremors began to take over his body; he slowly lowered himself to the floor. His name. his name was Cas? Cas.. Cas. More shakes added to his body, or was somebody shaking him?  
"Cas!" he soon realised somebody was in fact shaking him, but that voice. That voice he would recognise anywhere.  
"Dean? Why? What?" disoriented, Cas looks around the small crowd that had gathered, a slight misty tinge due to his eyesight. Panic begins to resurface. Dean, who had ran from the impala straight towards the crowd at the store, looked at Cas with a look of defeat.  
"You're ok Cas" Dean lowered himself to the same level as Cas, wrapping his arms around his bony shoulders tightly, "its ok. I aint goin' anywhere."  
_Slowly, was brought back from his recent memory, and not one of his fondest. He noticed what had brought him back; Cas' head had slowly dropped onto his shoulder. Fine, thin hair ticked his chin as he placed his head softly on top of Cas'. A sigh on content could be heard from the smaller man as he struggled to get as close as possible to his other half. This. This was his home. This had been his home for the past 40 years, and will be for many more.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Sketch Book

Soft pattering of rain against the windows played in the background; he closed his eyes and inhaled. He inhaled the rich smells of wild flowers mixed with Italian spice, this had become his favourite smell in the world. He clenched his fists, mouth tightly shut. His greying hair blended with his paling skin, one could easily mistake him for ghost. His lips, Cas' favourite feature, sat proud and plump, and in Cas' eyes, kissable. Opening his eyes, the lively green contrasted with his snowy complexion, making him look like an odd cartoon character. Prominent bones jagged out past his shirt connecting his long limbs together. Like a spider, he began untangling himself from the window seat. He stretched like a cat, popping all his joints slowly. Looking around the room, Deans eyes remained fixed on the small sketch book Sam had found on his last trip, sitting on the edge of the worn out coffee table. It belonged to Cas. Inside the rich, black leather Cas had produced the most beautiful, detailed drawings of literally everything. From the small blackbirds that sat outside the bunker shortly after Cas fell, to intricate sketches of every inch of Deans face.

Drawing Deans face was Cas' favourite. He would begin with numerous lines after lines of the shape of his face, going over and over until it was just right. His prominent, strong jawline with just a touch of stubble gracing the magnificent structure. Deans eyes, always holding a certain mischief. The size of Deans eyes amazed Cas. The way his pupils would dilate when they found themselves breathless after sneaking of in the impala, driving like maniacs to find a secluded area to continue acting like a pair of hormonal teenagers. Deans lips. Deans lips to Cas where his kryptonite. No matter the size of the argument, how mad or angry or upset Cas was, all Dean had to do was pout a tiny bit, add a small glossing of saliva over his bottom lip and Cas was a goner. He would make Dean talk, all the time. Just to watch his mouth move, it was a hobby of his for the last 40 years. Dean standing in the cold, empty room staring at the sketch book, a tsunami of sadness and happy memories overtook him. There was not a page in the book that wasn't filled, Cas had refused to buy a new one.

_"Hey Cas, when you gonna buy a new book dude, this one is falling apart!" Dean shouted to Cas. Stepping out from the bathroom in just a towel hanging low on his small hips, and his hair dripping small droplets of water down his neck, he frowned at Dean.  
"Why would I buy a new one? It's perfectly healthy still" he gestured to the object in question while tugging the towel tighter around his waist. Dean sat staring for a good 5 whole minutes, examining his handiwork spread out across Cas' smooth chest, the contrasting red markings reminding him of the night before. Heat began to creep up and take over his whole face and neck before he realised he had been asked a question. But Cas was standing in front of Dean, practically naked, so who could blame him for the delay?  
"I-I erm yeah, its erm falling apart" Dean began stuttering as Cas strode over to the pile of clean clothing in the corner, dropping his towel and began to apply said clothing, to Deans utter disgust.  
"Well," Cas began as he pulled one of Deans worn grey T-shirts over his head, and getting stuck in the process, "why don't we go and buy some new paper, just refill it?" Still trapped in Deans top, he began to thoroughly pull at the fabric and mumbling annoyed noises . Chuckling to himself at his boyfriends current predicament, Dean slowly made his way over and tugged Cas' head through, making his still damp hair transform into an unruly fluffy mess. Crystal blue eyes looked up with irritation at being mocked, and with the hair it was possibly the cutest thing Dean had ever seen. The irritation on Cas' face slowly began to turn into fondness at the radiant smile currently residing on Deans face.  
"Okay then, after you finish getting ready we'll head downtown and see what there is", Dean replied, engulfing his small fallen angel into his arms. They stood there in a close embrace slightly swaying and letting out soft noises of content for what felt like hours, yet was barely minutes .  
"Hey Cas", Dean started, and Cas hummed and wiggled closer in response, "when you get your paper, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls"  
Cas' only reply was to look up at Dean, tilting his head to side and squinting his eyes so small, tiny wrinkles appeared fanning out of the outside of his eyes.  
"Dean, I don't understand that reference? I don't nor would like any French girls"_

Cas' sketch book was his prized possession. He used to dedicate whole weekends when he was truly in the zone, dedicated to it. Dean would even admit to saying he became jealous of this book, up to the point his once hid it from Cas in the hopes he would be the sole object of Cas' attention. However, when Cas couldn't find his book he locked himself in his room and refused to eat, or speak, or shower. Safe to say Dean 'magically' found the book in trunk of the impala hidden beneath weapons upon weapons when the stench of Cas was boarder lining the same smell emitted from a 4 and a half month old cheeseburger.

As time went by, and the human side of aging began to affect Cas more and more, he found himself unable to hold the pencil as steady as he had a few years earlier. He grew frustrated. He couldn't control the lines, he couldn't control how much pressure he was applying to the charcoal, he was not in control. Soon, he gave up on his sketch book altogether and during a short trip to Sam's house he 'accidently' lost the small, leather book and never even mentioned it again. Sam, having found it recently had given it to Dean as he knew how much his brother was actually fond of the small sketch book. Now, Dean stands there clutching the book to his chest, gripping with all his strength, this piece of Cas that had been missing for a while.


End file.
